


Get some twinkle for your eye

by megyal



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-19
Updated: 2007-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	1. Chapter 1

When Gerard first saw Patrick stumbling through the door of the dorm-room, he was torn between horrified complaining to the Dorm Rep, or shrieking with laughter over his new room-mate's sense of.... _style_. He settled with staring.

"Yeah, um. Hi?" said the Argyle Wonder, dragging a massive blue suitcase through the door. The corner of it caught on the frame of the door and there was a ripping sound. "Motherfucker, _no_...sorry. You're Gerard?"

"Yeah, one and only," Gerard managed, lounging on his bed with a lighter in one hand and his favourite sketch pencil in the other. "That's a really old suitcase there...did it come over on the Mayflower?"

The other boy shot him an uncertain look and then gave a very small cool smile. He wrestled with the suitcase over to the other bed, the window between the two beds letting in sweet September sunshine. He knelt to open it on the floor, dragging out clothes to stuff into the drawers built underneath the bed, and the sunshine slid over the hair escaping from under the camoflage-print hat, burnishing the fine strands in copper. Gerard had sworn it had been a muddy-blond when he had been tottering about in the darkness of the doorway. He liked that shade. He was itching to find his chalk pastels and search for that exact colour.

"I'm Patrick," the dude said, flipping open the case. "Music."

"Visual Arts," Gerard responded. It was like a code around here, First Name-then-Department. So far, Gerard had met "Chris-Performing Arts" and "Will-Dance Department" in this particular freshman group. It was fun. He opened his mouth to ask which instrument, when Pete stormed in with a guitar-case and a box of wires, with an old battered laptop. He dumped them unceremoniously on the foot of the bed.

" _God_ , here it is. That shit is heavy. Gerard...fucker, what's going on?"

"Second year, bitch, that's what's goin' on," Gerard said warmly. Pete was in Performing Arts, although he could act for shit. The student plays he wrote were always tittilating though; the last one had involved some sort of orgasm on-stage. "And apparently, you know my new room-mate."

Pete gave his ferally attractive grin, stepping over Patrick and flopping onto the bare bed. Patrick gave him a withering look, pushing his glasses with those thick black frames up his nose.

"This dude? Yeah, Chi-town, like me. You're lucky he didn't bring the keyboard and the drumset. You'd have to sleep in the fucking hallway."

Gerard raised his eyebrows and looked at the unassuming kid kneeling on the floor. Patrick was glaring at Pete, as if a dark secret had been divulged. Pete winked at him and Patrick blushed under his frown. Oh. _Oh_.

*

"Gerard. Just...is that turpentine?" Patrick sniffed. He was sitting on the floor, which seemed to be where he always was, surrounded by lined sheets of paper, black musical notes trailing across the white layers. Gerard rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Pat, this is turpentine. See that oil paint? I use this with it." Gerard spoke slowly, as if to a stubborn child and Patrick's eyes flashed. He got up quickly, hitching at his jeans and stalked past with a wad of paper clenched in one hand.

"It's _Patrick_. I'm over at Pete's," he said tightly, closing the door hard, but not quite a slam. Gerard stuck his tongue out at the door. He liked riling Patrick up. He seemed to be on edge all the time, a little plump bundle of ferocity that intrigued Gerard. He would have little tirades in the room, muttering over lecturers and the course-work. Then he would sweep out of the room, hat jammed low over his head and make his way to the ground floor, to Pete's room.

Gerard felt the need to push every button Patrick had; and, from the looks of things, Patrick had a lot of buttons. Also, Patrick had a very lovely bottom lip. Anytime they were arguing over sketch paper scattered in the dorm-room, or Patrick's penchant for bursting into show-tunes at 5:45 am, Gerard would find himself staring at it for a little too long. More often than not, Patrick would catch him at it and blink slowly, sucking in the offending lip to nibble on it.

It totally messed with Gerard's confrontational stance.

He wiped his hands absently on a piece of grey rag and pulled out a sketch-pad from underneath his mattress. This wasn't the sketch-pad that went to class; this was like his visual diary, the ideas for the comics sliding at the corners of nearly every page, whilst the images of nearly every day skittered in bold lines, taking up the center of the sheets. He hesitated for a moment, before taking off his shirt and getting comfy in bed, sketch-pad resting on drawn-up knees. Patrick would be away for an hour, maybe two. So he could let the flab hang all out. Mikey would shake his head at this thought, gently pointing out that Gerard was _sturdy_ , not fat. _There's a huge difference_ , he could almost hear him say. For good measure, Gerard snorted in disbelief.

He made a few long strokes to the little doodle of Patrick in the middle of the paper, making the lashes overly long. The hat was easy, but the uncertain and yet intense expression was a little harder to capture. Gerard wrinkled his nose and added a line to the glasses to make them thicker.

Better. There was another sketch close to that, just his face alone, a grin plastered on that generous mouth. This had been one of those many times that Pete had been sprawled across Patrick's bed, complaining about the sag in the middle and teasing Patrick about his nightly activities. Patrick had had a small smile on his face, not quite a full curve and Pete had leaned forward, kissing him heartily.

Patrick's eyes had opened so wide, they nearly fell out of his head. His gaze had flickered over to Gerard, studiously going though his Modern Art notes and then there was this grin; Gerard had frowned at his book, seeing it out of the corner of his eyes, how open Patrick seemed to smile at Pete, as if Pete had the cure for the blues in his face. Now, Gerard strove to latch onto the way Patrick's eyes had gone from a steely blue to a softer shade and he was just getting there, almost getting it...

And Patrick burst back in. Gerard actually shrieked and clutched his sketch-pad to his bare chest like a frightened virgin...which he _wasn't_ , no matter what Pete chose to tell people from the rooftop of the Performing Arts department.

Patrick stared at him and then laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in absolute delight. Even through his mortification, Gerard noticed that Patrick got all squinty-eyed when he laughed so hard and it was so very cute and damn that little _bastard_ straight to hell.

"Dude," he grumbled, hunting for his shirt with one hand. "Knock, please?"

"The fuck for?" Patrick shot back, chuckling and going over to his bed, picking among the manuscripts. "This is my room too. And what do you have that I don't?"

Gerard waited until Patrick was looking at him in the eye again, before saying, "About four hundred pounds."

Patrick looked as if he couldn't decide whether to burst into laughter again, or commiserate. Apparently, he found a happy medium.

"I'm not exactly Mr. Universe, here," he said, with a lopsided smile. He flapped his hands in the air, as if describing himself to the wall and Gerard slitted his eyes at him. "Just..think of yourself as fluffy and not fat."

"Get the hell out," Gerard growled, unable to suppress a very small smile as Patrick went howling with laughter out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Gerard was into him. As in, _really_ liked Patrick and he realized this in the middle of one of his Graphic Arts classes, when the lecturer was saying something about curves; his mind jumped to that one time he woke up before Patrick and looked over, seeing a pale arc of shoulder where Patrick's overly-large shirt had slipped down.

He had gazed at that shoulder, the way it seemed to gleam in the dim grey of the morning and folded his lips in as he slid one hand down into his boxers. That hot, slick feeling was sliding up his back and deep into the bottom of his stomach; he tugged leisurely at himself, biting at his lip. His mind skittered from that shoulder, and insisted on an image of his mouth there and it was the thought of Patrick's face, maybe his mouth rounding in needy surprise, that caused him to grit his teeth as he came.

"Gerard?" Patrick's voice was low and stuffy, his head turning on his pillow. "You alright?"

Gerard clenched at the material of his boxers, wiping his hand and calming his nerves in one go. He had forgotten that Patrick could be a light sleeper.

"Yeah. Cool. I'm cool."

Patrick chuckled and wriggled leisurely under his comforter. He rolled onto his side, peering at Gerard; without his glasses, Gerard could see the slant of his eyes, the sharp blue-grey.

"It's February, dude. _Everyone_ is cool." Patrick smiled at him and Gerard felt irrationally smug that this current smile matched the intensity of the one he reserved for Pete. Patrick suddenly looked shy, reaching up to tuck some wayward strands behind his ear. "Yeah, so I was at one of your critiques last week...Monday, was it?"

"It must have been a Tuesday, man," Gerard corrected softly. Patrick didn't keep track of such mundane things as days. "I always have crits on Tuesdays and Fridays."

"Tuesday. Ok, yeah...and um. I liked the piece about the lost heart. Yeah, yeah, I know." Patrick had grinned sleepily at Gerard's disgruntled _moue_. "I know you said it was the piece you hated the most...but I think it's because it's the one that took up so much of your emotions. I think you _love_ it because of that."

"Whatever," Gerard had said, rolling his eyes.

Patrick had been right though. He had spent so much time on that one, that he had became sick of it, even though he had trudged through to completion and the lecturers had really gotten into the piece.

He lit a cigarette now, thinking about Patrick and lost hearts and hanging out the window onto the tiny balcony that wasn't really a balcony at all. One person could barely fit on it; Pete called it a balconette.

There was a noise behind him as he exhaled smoke and he turned to see Patrick and Pete fumble through the door; He flicked the cigarette away and his eyes widened as one of Pete's hands slammed the door quickly and then wrapped around Patrick's neck, pulling their faces close. Patrick made an _uummpph_ noise as Pete slipped his tongue past his lips and his hand up his shirt; Pete seemed to have a lot of hands now and Patrick seemed not to mind this.

Gerard cleared his throat and Patrick pulled away from Pete real quick, snapping his head to the window. His face was sweaty and he was _glowing_ , eyes bright and unsure.

"Um," he let out and Gerard made to step around them, a sardonic smile on his face. If he stayed he was going to do something incomprehensible to both himself and these two. He drew up short with Patrick's voice.

"Wait," Patrick was saying, taking a wobbly step towards him. "Wait, wait...wait."

Gerard gave him a long measured look and then glared at Pete.

"Don't tell me you gave him something to drink."

Pete managed to look sheepish and amused at the same time.

"Two beers," he stage-whispered at Gerard. "Just two and he's like this."

"Shut _up_ , I'm trying to talk," Patrick whispered hoarsely as well. He pushed at Pete ineffectually. "Look, I'm sorry because I'm not supposed to drink, I know this. I know. My head gets all nasty and my voice gets all not-cool and I'm going to wake up useless tomorrow and I'm not drunk! I'm not. Don't laugh," Patrick said seriously as Gerard shook his head with a rueful grin. "Dude, you're my roommate. You're not supposed to laugh."

Gerard shrugged, reaching for his sketch-pads, the class one and his diary-type one that was hidden under it, saying, "Whatever, I'll leave you two to it," but Patrick literally fell upon him, his weight solid and exciting. He was leaning against Gerard, hair wild and and face tilted up; there was a funny expression in his eyes, as if there was a secret hidden in the back of them. Gerard dropped everything in his hands and grabbed onto his upper arms as they both stumbled back a little, Gerard trying not to step on his scattered pencils.

"Whoops." Patrick arched a little into him, totally unapologetic. Gerard backed off and blinked down at his flushed face. "What? Okay, just--"

"Wait, you're standing on my foot and--" The rest of Gerard's sentence was cut off with Patrick's mouth pressing onto his. He opened his mouth, maybe to protest, he wasn't too sure; Patrick's tongue slid in slowly and he leaned his head to one side, deepening the kiss and smiling a little at Gerard's moan. Gerard wrenched his face away and looked at the door as if he wanted to escape.

"Patrick, you don't want to--"

" _Jeez_ , not with the _talking_ ," Pete grumbled and Gerard was not ashamed to admit that he had forgotten about Pete entirely. Pete slunk over and pressed himself into Patrick's back so that Patrick's body melted fully into Gerard's. A surprised sound formed in Gerard's throat as he realized that Patrick was just as hard as he was against his thigh, those eyes glittering with questions on his face.

"No more talking," Pete said, muttering with his mouth against Patrick's ear. Patrick kept his eyes fixed on Gerard's, still asking something that Gerard didn't know what the fucking question was, much less the answer. He felt Pete's hand slip around his neck and pull him forward past Patrick; kissing Pete was familiar, they'd done it before. Pete kissed like it was going out of style, fast and hard; Gerard could feel Patrick leaning a little away, watching them. Then he was leaning back in and Gerard felt a shy lick against his cheek and he moaned into Pete's mouth; Pete chuckled into his, turning his face to welcome Patrick into the kiss, stepping away a bit to give Patrick space to move.

Kissing one guy was nice. Trying to kiss two, one of whom was as forceful as a hurricane and the other who kissed like a sweet, cool breeze, was the weirdest activity Gerard had ever done, not to mention one of the most arousing. He couldn't decide whose tongue to concentrate on and so he let them do what they wanted, like a tag-team of the tongue; one moment they were both sliding against his mouth, hot and wet, then it was Patrick only, requesting and then demanding; now Pete, simply taking everything Gerard had to give. The both of them tasted so vastly different, even with the common tang of beer and Gerard wondered if he could get drunk by proxy.

He didn't realize he was being pushed back until he fell on his own bed and Patrick crawled onto him, knees on either side of his hips and holding him down by the shoulders as if Gerard had any intention of getting away _now_. Right, with Patrick's hat lost somewhere and his face strangely bare and lovely without it. He saw Pete peeking over Patrick's shoulder, his eyes dark as he dragged his tongue over the pale line of Patrick's neck. Patrick was still staring down at him, shuddering at the sensation.

Pete dragged off Patrick's shirt quickly, taking one of Gerard's hand and pulling to press against one round pink nipple. Patrick shivered, grinding down onto Gerard's groin.

"More?" Pete whispered. There was this confusing flurry of clothes and flesh and Gerard wondered if his bed could handle all three of them. Patrick ended up underneath him, struggling with Gerard to remove his boxers completely. Gerard still had his shirt on and it was going to _stay_ on, thanks very much, and he was going to announce this just in case they got any ideas when he slid against Patrick and speech was not necessary right now, really.

Patrick felt just the way he thought he should, solid and yet slightly squishy, like the most comfortable feeling in the world. Patrick dragged one foot around him and his whole body writhed _up_ , pressing their cocks together even more and Gerard's hips thrust once, twice in anticipation. He felt Pete's fingers thread through the dark strands of his hair, tightening almost painfully as he pulled Gerard's head back to growl in his ear.

"Get _in_ him," he ordered, a director to the core. "I want to see."

Pete was the one who rummaged under the bed for the lube as they rutted slowly on the bed, Gerard breathing deep into Patrick's neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and shampoo. Pete was the one who told him how Patrick liked to feel it, slow curling of fingers inside, stroking across that sensitive bump as Patrick gasped and begged. He had only the vaguest idea that Pete went to sit on Patrick's bed, the room now dark save for a yellow wedge of light coming in from the quaint street-lamps that the school had put along the brick pathways. He looked down into Patrick's face, watching as he licked his swollen lip, nervous energy pouring off him. Gerard studied him so that he could remember to sketch that expression later, as he positioned himself and pressed his way past that furled flesh

Patrick obligingly tilted his hips up, clenching around Gerard now, little noises of pain slipping out of him as Gerard inched in. Gerard paused.

"I can't," he said, one hand braced beside Patrick's head. "I...ok, no. You're too tight."

Patrick's answering moan was deeply exasperated. Pete's voice filtered across the dark room to them, locking together.

"That's because you're his first, like that."

"Please," Patrick put in hurriedly, as Gerard's face filled with confused dismay. "I _want_ you to--wait, how about--" and he inhaled, pressing his upraised knees into Gerard's side, his cock only half-hard against Gerard's shirt. Exhaling, he relaxed some more and Gerard slipped in further. "Oh. Ok...better."

Gerard slid out a little, testing Patrick, and then went back in. He wondered how it might look to Pete, the both of them pale and _fluffy_ , as Patrick would put it, light hair curling into black. Maybe Pete was recording this in his mind's eye to put in somewhere in some play; Pete was dedicated to his art like that. Though from the slickened sound coming from over there, maybe Pete didn't have time to take notes.

He thought he would have felt weirded out to have Pete watching them, the weight of his eyes palpable as he strove to get the right angle for Patrick. It only felt arousing and strangely infuriating, as if he was manipulated into something he had wanted so bad in the first place. Which he was, but _so_ not the time to ponder this as Patrick's breath hitched beneath him and he could feel Patrick's dick taking more interest in proceedings.

The question in Patrick's eyes was still there, accompanied by a flare of need as his mouth parted and he gasped in time to Gerard's cautious thrusting.

"Hold onto him," a choked command came from across the room and Gerard didn't hesitate to slide a hand between their sweaty bodies and grasp onto him, squeezing and pulling until Patrick threw his arm over his own mouth and made a muffled yell into the crook of his elbow, his body electrified under and around Gerard; Gerard was pulled in right after him, groaning in almost a state of shock.

That was...indefinable. He was seeing colours he'd never encountered on the palette, shivering as his vision calmed down.

Patrick hissed low against Gerard's jaw as he slid out, whispering nonsense as Gerard's come trickled out after him.

"Oh, yeah." Pete's voice was inordinately pleased and Gerard rolled his eyes. "Ok, over there is all sticky and shit. Come over here."

"You can stop that now," Gerard snapped, yanking Patrick's languid form up and staggering them both over there. In the gloom he could see Pete scrambling gleefully under the sheets and he tucked Patrick under them. Patrick's hand curled around his wrist and tried to pull him in, but he twisted it away.

"Come in...we can make the space," Patrick said sleepily. "Pete, move over....move over _more_."

"No," Gerard said tightly, struggling against lying down. "No, it's not..I don't want to."

He thought he should have explained himself more, maybe say that he didn't want to _share_ , but he was practically speechless as he yanked on his jeans without his boxers and went out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Gerard crept back into the dorm-room at about six, hoping to get ready for his first class. He had spent the rest of the night in the third-years' studio, curling up in someone's sleeping bag, before they rolled him out. He'd showered briskly in another dorm, borrowing Will's fancy bath-gel and stealing a towel. Sometimes, he really liked school.

There was no-one in the room, Patrick's bed unusually rumpled. He never left it with the sheets hanging half-off like that; many times it was the one tidy island in the middle of the sea of mess that was Patrick. Gerard bit his lip in displeasure, recalling who he had left Patrick with as he went to his bed and pulled off the sheets, stuffing them into the clothes-hamper. He clenched his right hand, trying to still the trembling, and located a charcoal pencil near his bedside lamp. Clutching at it like a knife, he looked for his sketch-diary to stab into it.

Gerard frowned, trying to recall the last place he put it; he remembered that it was in his hand when Patrick had wrapped all around him, then it had fell, so it should be under the bed or something--

"Here," Patrick said from the door as he was on his knees, squinting into the dusty world under his bed. He froze and then looked up slowly. Patrick was in his boxers and a dark shirt, long strands of his hair darkly damp as he pulled the door shut. Gerard stared back at his feet, blinking as the toes wiggled in his slippers. "I think this is yours."

The large red sketch-pad thumped onto his bed and Patrick sat on his own, back against the wall. He was wearing some knitted hat, his hair tucked almost completely under; Gerard found that he completely hated that effect, although the pale expanse of Patrick's legs sort of made up for it. Patrick toed off his bright footwear, kicking them over the edge of the bed and drew up one leg to wrap his arms around it, resting one cheek on his knee.

"I'm sore," he said softly. Gerard rocked back and sat cross-legged on the floor, feeling as if their normal roles were reversed; he twirled the charcoal pencil in his hand. "It's not too bad, but...Pete told me what happened."

Gerard stared at him and although he could only see the top of that awful skullcap, he noted that Patrick's arms were actually flushed red.

"You don't remember what happened last night?" he said with derisive incredulity. Patrick's body went tense.

"It's...it's like bits and pieces. I don't know."

" _Fucker_ ," Gerard spat and the pencil snapped in his hand. Patrick lifted his head and there was a mixture of confusion and anger on his face. "You're a little _shit_ , you know that?"

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Patrick said, unfolding himself and scooting forward to the edge of the bed, his cheeks high with colour. "Just, _what_? You're the one with all the sketches of me in your little book. I might be a shit, yeah, but I don't stalk my room-mate."

"You went _through_ it--," Gerard seethed, reaching back and scrambling for the ring-bound sketchpad with one hand. "Oh, man, and you're all over me like that and _you don't remember_?" He didn't even think anything through as he flung the book the same way he would toss a Frisbee; it flew across the tiny space and hit Patrick right in the shoulder, loose pages fluttering all around them.

Patrick was on his feet instantly; for such a little person, he moved fast...or maybe it was thanks to that, because he literally pounced, a sharp jab to the ribs rocketing pain through Gerard's body. Patrick didn't fight fair at _all_ , since he used knees and elbows and even teeth, but Gerard grew up in a rough neighbourhood and he knew a thing or two about fighting _nasty_ , a short punch to Patrick's face rocking his head back.

" _Asshole_ ," Patrick grunted as he was forced onto his back and held down on the floor by his wrists. He was surprisingly hard to immobilize, writhing in fury underneath Gerard's larger frame. His lip was split and Gerard was sorry that such a thing had happened to that mouth, only not really. Patrick bucked up and nearly succeeded in getting him off. "One minute you want me and I _give_ you what you want and the next minute...oh god, I want to _kill_ you."

"Who said you had to give me what I want?" Gerard shouted in his face. One of Patrick's hands whipped free and smacked him across his head. Gerard went to grab at it and Patrick took advantage of his distracted state to shove a flailing knee into his balls.

" _I_ wanted to!" Patrick yelled as Gerard toppled to one side and curled into a comma, coughing at the crippling agony. "Why the fuck did I even listen to Pete?!" He scrambled up and tumbled almost instantly to the floor again as Gerard grabbed his ankle. "Ouch. Shit. Gerard, you _bastard_."

"Shut the fuck up," Gerard wheezed. "You shit, you kicked me. Oh man."

"All this time, Pete's telling me, 'Hey, G's _really_ into you, go back up there.' And you want to just fuck around." Patrick held onto his head and groaned. "Fucker."

"I didn't get any signals!" Gerard snapped, sitting up gingerly. "How the fuck can I tell with you? You're making eyes at Pete and yelling at me about the india-ink on your hat one day and the next you want to get into my pants. _You're_ the one who's fucking around."

There was a grim silence as Patrick belatedly inspected his hands for injury. Satisfied, he crawled to his bed and leaned against it.

"Ok, fine," he ground out. "At first it _was_ Pete, because...I mean, who doesn't want Pete? He's...he's _Pete_. I've known him, like, forever. We did stuff...but not _stuff_ -stuff."

Gerard huffed, cupping his crotch with a grimace. "So, let me get this straight. Second best, right? For some reason, you couldn't get into Pete's bed and so you came to me..." He stopped at Patrick's expression, bewildered covered with angry hurt.

"No," Patrick said in a voice that started out low and rose sharply as he spoke. "You weren't second best. You were my first...and you asshole, I could get Pete! The hell are you talking about?"

Gerard wanted to laugh but he kept his face blank.

"But you...you were kissing him last night...he was _there_."

Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Yeah...that was Pete _helping_ me out. Gerard, Pete's in dramatic arts. Everything is a fucking production. He was like 'let's go jump-start this shit.' He had to pour some beer into me, for bravery." He suddenly looked very shy. "I'm...dude, I get by with words when it comes to music and shit, but not so much with people."

Gerard wanted to strangle him, because he had been to Patrick's practical exams, both voice and instrument and he had always left with the most vivid impression that Patrick painted everything around him with music and words. Instead he gingerly crawled over until he was almost nose-to-nose with Patrick, his eyes large and slightly crossed as he stared back at Gerard. Gerard took in the colours, the irises shot through with green and hazel. He kissed the corner of his mouth and smiled as Patrick took a deep inhale.

"Sorry about your mouth," he whispered, pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose. "Cause I sort of like it a lot."

"I've noticed," Patrick said, placing his hands on Gerard's shoulders and pushing him so they were sitting, facing each other on the cool floor. "Sorry...um, about your...yeah, your dick. I like that a lot too, so."

Gerard laughed, straddling him as Patrick slid invitingly onto his back on the floor. He tucked his face into Patrick's neck and breathed deeply, sliding his tongue along the dark crevices, tasting the sweet pale hue. Patrick moaned and arched up into him, shifting to wrap his legs around Gerard's hips, pulling him in closer. Gerard thought he couldn't get any harder until he felt Patrick hot against him, hips moving in needy circles. Gerard grinned in relief.

"Hey," he murmured, slipping his hand into Patrick's boxers and grasping onto him, heavy and pulsing in the middle of his palm. "Yeah," he continued as Patrick groaned and moved against his fingers.

"Wait, let me--" Patrick offered on a gasp, fingers sneaking across the zipper of Gerard's jeans and yanking his jeans down a bit; warm fingers skittered onto him. "Jesus, you didn't put on your boxers, you idiot. And...shit. Fighting turns you on? I should kick you in the nuts more often."

"Ha," Gerard replied, his mind more focused on Patrick's tentative hold; it tightened in confidence around him, rough thumb teasing the swollen head, pressing and drawing notes along the same key out of Gerard. He kept his face buried in Patrick's neck, feeling the familiar low boil in his lower stomach; his teeth fixed on Patrick's neck, tongue pressed against the pulse as Patrick groaned and bucked in his hand, warm and slick. Gerard twisted his wrist as he slid his hand up and down slowly, Patrick shivering; the angle was probably as awkward for him as it was for Patrick's hand, but it felt so _fine_.

" _Gerard_ ," Patrick whispered in that voice that Pete swore would move mountains, when he really grew into it. Gerard felt it shade a mystery down his spine, sketch almost painfully through his thighs and surge out of him, a particular hue of copper-blond-red curling across the canvas of his eyes. Patrick's whole body went tense, his mouth opened in an _o_ before slowly melting into a languid grin.

"You're so mixed up," Gerard said breathlessly as Patrick reached up and brushed damp black wisps out of his eyes. "You fuck me and then try beat me up after. This is the worst relationship I've ever been in." Patrick gave him a mock-glare, unable to disguise the delight dancing on his face.

They could hear Pete rampaging up the corridor, hollering snidely at other students as they strove to get their breath back. Patrick scrambled from underneath him and lunged at the door, bracing against it, his eyes bright.

"Help me," he laughed as Pete pushed against the door, cursing. "Unless...you want him in here. He probably thinks you're killing me or something."

Gerard groaned and literally rolled over to the door, reaching up to turn the key. Patrick regarded him intently.

"That's the first time you've ever locked the door while we're in here," he said calmly, his smile tinged with mischief. Gerard decided that as much as he liked most of Patrick's moods, this one was now his favourite. "I see you have plans."

"God, you have this _mouth_ and you keep using it for _evil_ ," Gerard complained, grabbing onto him and feeling papers under his toes as he held onto Patrick, ran his hands through that hair and used that mouth for good.


End file.
